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Because myself do want my servants’ fortune.

I curse myself, for they are sent by me,

That they should harbor where their lord should be.”

What’s here?

“Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.”

’Tis so; and here’s the ladder for the purpose.

Why, Phaëton (for thou art Merops’ son),

Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,

And with thy daring folly burn the world?

Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee?

Go, base intruder, overweening slave,

Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates,

And think my patience (more than thy desert)

Is privilege for thy departure hence.

Thank me for this more than for all the favors

Which (all too much) I have bestowed on thee.

But if thou linger in my territories

Longer than swiftest expedition

Will give thee time to leave our royal court,

By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love

I ever bore my daughter, or thyself.

Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse,

But as thou lov’st thy life, make speed from hence.

[Exit.]

Val.

And why not death, rather than living torment?